


The Look

by HanilarLion



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John tries to be responsible, M/M, Workplace Sex, but Sherlock wins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanilarLion/pseuds/HanilarLion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock stops by John's office and gives him a Look that can only lead to one thing...Written before Series 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Look

**Author's Note:**

> Repost from my ff.net account. I wrote this randomly one night for my roommate. The characters aren't mine, I just like writing about them. Hope you enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes had many Looks. There was his famous “we both know what’s really going on here” Look, the cause of so much of John Watson’s exasperation. There was his only slightly less well-known “everyone here is an idiot but me” Look, usually leveled at Anderson and other members of Greg Lestrade’s team. There were his variety of acting Looks that he used when he put on a sham to get information out of witnesses. All of these Looks were frequently, publicly displayed on the high-cheekboned, ice-blue-eyed face below the cap of curling hair. 

However, there was one Look of which only one person could be the recipient. That person was Doctor John Hamish Watson, and the Look was, in a word, sex. 

Sherlock was doing it now, and it was playing havoc on John’s ability to concentrate. He was in the staff room, going through the day’s reports with the clinics other doctors and nurses, but he was the only one with a clear view out the door. Sherlock had his long, lean body propped against the wall, his coat and scarf open over his usual immaculate suit. He had his head tilted slightly to one side, emphasizing the pale column of his throat; an extra button of his dark purple shirt was undone, showing off the hollow of his throat and the edges of his clavicles. His eyes were fixed on John, pupils slightly dilated, their usual hue darkened to indigo and blazing with carnal intentions. On one long-fingered hand was resting on his belt buckle, the other shoved in his pocket. 

“John? What do you think?” asked a voice, and John hurriedly tore his gaze away from his lover. 

“Sorry, what?” he said, forcing an apologetic smile onto his lips. “My mind must have wandered.” _No thanks to him. Git._ He crossed his legs and leaned forward slightly, ostensibly to focus his attention on the woman who had spoken, but in actuality to hide the growing evidence of the effect Sherlock’s blue gaze had on him. 

“Do you think it’s worth it to order more flu vaccine, or would we end up with loads extra we had to throw out?” the head nurse repeated, no sign of impatience in her voice. “We’ve about half a shipment left.” 

“I think we should get more in,” John replied. “We don’t want a repeat of last year.” There was a general murmur of agreement. John couldn’t help glancing back out the door at Sherlock, who hadn’t moved, but the corner of whose mouth had quirked up slightly. He knew exactly how distracting he was being, and he was unrepentant. 

John managed to get through the rest of the meeting without embarrassing himself further, and by the time they adjourned, Sherlock had straightened into a more casual pose. He followed John to his small office with only a nod of greeting at John’s coworkers. Some shot him confused looks, but no one commented as he followed the doctor to his small office.

John busied himself tidying his case notes and putting things away, attempting to ignore Sherlock as the man resumed his lounging posture next to the door. 

“Do you have to do that?” he demanded as he almost tripped over the taller man’s legs. “It’s bloody distracting.” 

“That’s the point,” Sherlock told him in his velvet rumble of a voice. “So dull, those meetings. I don’t know why you bother.”

“I _bother_ because I care about the patients that come through here,” John half-snapped. It was an old argument, the arguments on both sides oft-recited. “And anyway, I need to go if I want to keep working here. And working here helps pay the bills, so…” He shrugged, still not looking at Sherlock. 

“Hmm,” the detective murmured. “Well, working here certainly does have certain…advantages.” The tone of his voice, coupled with the snick of the door closing and locking, made John look up in surprise. 

His breath left him in a woosh and most of the blood in his body abandoned his brain as he took in Sherlock’s expression. Those blue eyes were fixed on John with almost predatory hunger. He had allowed his jacket to fall open further, and now his hands hung at his sides. John’s tongue darted out to wet suddenly dry lips as he took in the bulge beneath Sherlock’s trousers; the hand in his pocket earlier had been concealing it. 

“Sherlock…” he breathed, but before he could say anything more, the detective’s long arms had snagged him and pulled him into a passionate kiss. 

Sherlock moaned, low in his throat, a noise that John felt through his own sternum more than heard. He pressed himself closer to Sherlock’s body, rubbing against the other man’s arousal and letting him feel his answering hardness. One hand snaked around Sherlock’s back to rest on his shoulder blade, and the other crept up his neck to wind itself in the silky curls at his nape. 

Sherlock pulled his mouth away a fraction, panting, close enough that the two men were sharing their breath. “Definitely has advantages,” he murmured, his eyes taking in the small but private office. 

“You didn’t seriously come down here to shag me in my office, did you?” John demanded, but the breathlessness behind the words took the edge away. Sherlock’s chuckle rumbled in his chest. 

“I was bored,” he explained. “This seemed like an exciting alternative to waiting for Lestrade to call. And you can’t honestly tell me you’ve never considered it.”

“No, I can’t,” John agreed, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Sherlock’s throat, smiling into the skin as the man hummed his approval. His hands shifted, sliding under the thick wool of Sherlock’s coat and down the detective’s arms; Sherlock allowed his fingers to part from John only long enough for the coat to drop to the floor before he tangled them back in John’s hair and pulled their bodies back together. 

John kept his hands in between them, undoing the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt and sliding down the smooth flesh that was revealed to him with each one. He groaned his appreciation of the other man’s form, and Sherlock nipped at his lip in reply. Long violinist’s fingers dipped into John’s waistband, untucking the corduroy shirt and pulling it and the jumper atop it up John’s ribs. They parted briefly once more so the lump of garments could join the coat on the floor, and John took the opportunity to flick Sherlock’s shirt off his wrists. They eagerly pressed together once more, mouths melding with the clash of tongue and teeth. 

The next time they broke apart for air, still gasping, John pressed his mouth to Sherlock’s jaw, then moved to his neck. He breathed kisses onto the long line of smooth, pale skin, occasionally nipping at the flesh and licking the marks, reveling in Sherlock’s half-restrained noises of pleasure. He continued his journey down, swirling his tongue around Sherlock’s Adam’s apple and sucking at the skin in the hollow of his throat. He kissed a path down the other man’s lightly hair-sprinkled chest, stopping to close his teeth gently around each hard pink nipple. Sherlock’s hands fisted in John’s hair, not with enough pressure to force him to anything, but more to anchor himself against the sensations of the caresses.  
John grinned wickedly against Sherlock’s abdomen as he began pressing kisses along the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers. 

“For God’s sake, John!” Sherlock groaned, his fingers tightening and his knees buckling. John’s cock throbbed in his jeans, and he groaned, tightening his hands on Sherlock’s hips, as he fought against the instinct to simply thrust against the other man. No, if they were going to take advantage of his office, they were going to do it right. 

John settled himself on his knees and allowed himself one look up into Sherlock’s face. His eyes were almost black with lust, the pupils blown out, his pulse beating visibly in his faintly sweaty neck. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” John breathed, grabbing Sherlock’s arse with both hands and squeezing lightly. Sherlock let out a wrecked noise of approval, his hips bucking forward involuntarily. John reluctantly relinquished his grip on that fantastic arse to hold Sherlock’s hips again, pressing him firmly against the wall. He leaned in so his lips almost, but not quite, brushed the fabric above Sherlock’s erection. He breathed out, letting the hot, humid air tease the other man through the fabric of his trousers. Sherlock let out a strangled gasp. John did it again, this time allowing his mouth to exert the faintest pressure. 

Suddenly, hands under his arms jerked him up, and he found himself with his back shoved up against his desk. Sherlock’s hips were pressed tightly to his, grinding shamelessly. 

“Stop teasing, John,” he growled, his voice even lower with desire. John felt his cock twitch. Sherlock shoved him backwards so that he fell back onto the desk before sprawling on top of him and claiming his mouth with a sound almost like a snarl. John arched his back, moaning as their erections ground together through their trousers. He managed to work his hand between them and gripped Sherlock through the material. The noise that the other man emitted almost had him coming in his pants. 

“That what you want, then?” he panted, squeezing a bit. Sherlock moaned approval, canting his hips into John’s hand. John scrabbled at Sherlock’s belt and flies, managing to get them undone only after a few fumbling tries. When he finally wrapped his hand around the bare, scorching flesh, it twitched in his grasp as Sherlock let out another lustful groan. John tilted onto his side so that Sherlock slipped half off of him, now with one hip on the desk. He grabbed at John’s shoulder in reaction, both to keep himself from falling off the desk and to ground himself against the other man’s ministrations on his cock. 

“John!” he gasped, and that was all the warning John had before Sherlock’s semen spurted onto his hand and belly. He stroked Sherlock through his orgasm, his movements becoming slower and gentler as the other man shuddered to completion. After several long moments, he stopped and let his hand rest on Sherlock’s hip. 

“Look at me,” he crooned, and Sherlock dragged his eyes open. John brought his come-slicked hand to his mouth and slowly, deliberately, licked the white fluid off his finger. 

Sherlock grunted once and unceremoniously shoved his hand down the front of John’s jeans and pants. One, two, three strokes and John’s orgasm exploded through him, soaking his pants and leaving him a shuddering, sticky, sated mess. He sagged into Sherlock, who wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, ignoring the mess between them. 

“We have got to start making it out of our clothes, at least,” John panted several moments later. Sherlock chuckled tiredly, the sound bringing out one last twitch of interest from John’s cock. 

“We will,” he assured the doctor. “Later tonight.” The promise in his words sent warmth coiling through not only John’s lower belly, but his heart as well. John nuzzled into his shoulder in reply, and Sherlock’s arms tightened around him. 

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“Next time, could you please wait until after my staff meeting to give me that look?” 

“Next time?” Sherlock inquired, and their laughter intertwined and filled up the small space. It was a long time before they stopped.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know if you have any suggestions for how I can improve my writing. If not, have a great rest of your day!


End file.
